


Royally Inappropriate

by misscam



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's his bodyguard, and he's the reluctant heir to the throne. It wouldn't be at all appropriate if he fell in love with her, would it? So of course he does. [Snow/Charming, AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royally Inappropriate

**Author's Note:**

> For hayleyslucas, as your back-up Snowing secret Santa. Your prompt was “i’m a prince/ss and you’re my bodyguard and we’re so not supposed to bang but we kind of did anyways”, but as I had already filled that prompt in summer with a fic called Screwed (A Modern Fairytale), I did a slight variation and mixed in a few of your other royal AU wishes. Hope it's to your liking!

Royally Inappropriate  
by misscam

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

II

When he woke up this morning, Prince David Nolan, reluctant heir to the throne, imagined this would be another day filled with royal commitments, ceremonial duties and symbolic appearances, just like every other day since his twin James died and left him in line for the throne and his father's disappointment. 

He certainly didn't expect to find three of his father's royal guards harassing a young, blonde girl, ending up in a fight with said guards after they didn't take kindly to being told to stop, and nearly winning until one guy cheats by pulling a gun on him. 

He definitely, definitely didn't expect to have his life saved by a young dark-haired woman stepping out of the shadows and kicking the gun-wielding guard straight in the crotch. 

Huh. 

The guard groans, going down and dropping the gun, which is immediately picked up by the woman She's beautiful, David can't help but notice, with short-dark hair, fair skin, bright, green eyes. She's also clearly capable, brave and kickass, and David thinks he might be a little bit in love.

“Are you all right?” she asks, glancing over at him. 

“I'm fine,” he says breathlessly. “Thank you for.... saving my life.”

Her lips turn upwards in a smile that is so lovely and charming he feels it like a punch to the gut. Oh. 

“It's what I'm here for,” she says, still smiling. “Graham sent me. I'm your new bodyguard.”

“I don't need a ...” he begins, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “I would have been perfectly fine if...”

“You hadn't picked a fight with your own royal guards?” she says cheekily, then bites her lip as if realizing that she is in fact being cheeky to the crown prince. He rather likes that, he finds, that her first instinct is to tease him rather than treat him with reverence. He likes that a lot. 

“They were harassing a young lady and wouldn't take no for an answer,” he defends himself with, and she looks at him with far more respect this time. 

“Oh,” she says. “And you defended her as the Prince Charming you are, I suppose.”

“I defended her as any guy should,” he corrects, and she seems pleased by that answer. “It seemed like the honorable things to do. And I don't like seeing people abusing their privilege and power.”

She nods very slowly. “A noble ideal. Very... Charming, in fact.”

He grins slightly. “So you've saved my life and already given me a nickname, and I don't even know who you are yet.”

She bites her lip adorably again. “You can call me... Snow.”

“Snow,” he repeats, enjoying the feel of her name on his lips. “An unusual name.”

“My mother considered me her Snow White,” she says softly, a far-away look in her eyes. “She died when I was very young.”

“I'm sorry,” he offers sincerely. 

“Thank you,” she says, sounding almost royal for a moment. “So, _Charming_ , what are we going to do about these three?”

“I think Graham would very much like to talk to them about the duties and responsibilities of a royal guard,” he says, and she grins. “After which I suspect the police will want a word about harassment and assault charges.”

She inclines her head. “If you say so, my prince.”

He rather likes the sound of being her anything, he thinks.

II

Graham looks torn between rolling his eyes and hitting his head against the desk when he gets the story from David, but when David gets to the part about Snow's sudden appearance and Graham notices her, he looks ready to despair.

“You told me you were going to be discreet!” Graham tells her. “This is... the opposite of discreet! Snow, this was hardly appropriate to begin with, but now...”

“He was in danger,” Snow defends herself with, and Graham throws his hands out in a gesture of defeat. “I had to do something. Graham... It's fine. I'll be his bodyguard for a while.”

“His bodyguard,” Graham repeats dully, closing his eyes. “I'm going to lose my head.”

“Why?” David asks curiously. It's clear that these two already know each other, and he gets a strong feeling there is something he's not being told.

“He's just exaggerating,” Snow says, giving Graham a pointed look. “We had just planned that I would keep an eye on you without you knowing, that's all.”

“Because you knew I wouldn't be happy about it,” David surmises. “Did my father set this up? He's going to be gone for two weeks on his royal tour and he doesn't trust me to even look after myself?”

He sounds bitter, he realizes, and closes his eyes. Dammit. He has to learn to let this go. He has to... 

“It doesn't matter,” he says before Snow or Graham can say anything. “I don't need a bodyguard.”

“Well, you have me anyway,” Snow says, her voice filled with determination and a fair amount of stubbornness, he can tell. She walks up to him, her gaze a challenge. “Get used to it, Charming.”

Oh, he thinks again. Kickass, brave, capable, cheeky, adorable, beautiful, determined and stubborn.

He doesn't really stand a chance, does he? 

“If you say so,” he says, deliberately repeating her words from earlier, and she smiles at him, a smile he just has to return. 

“I'm going to lose my head,” Graham repeats darkly.

“No one is going to lose their heads,” Snow says, giving him a quick, reassuring look before glancing back up at David. 

“No,” David agrees, but he's not so sure about not losing his heart. 

II

He isn't sure exactly why, but David finds himself almost nervous as he takes Snow home – as it were. 

“You live in a tower,” Snow says thoughtfully. “You have a grand, old castle and you choose to live in a tower.”

“Yes,” he agrees, and she looks at him with the same thoughtful expression. “I always have.”

“Not that it isn't a charming tower, Charming,” she jokes, and he grins. “But why?”

“A few reasons,” he tells her, running his hand across the old stone walls. “Privacy. It's a tower at the far end of a grand castle. I can be alone here. It might sound odd, but as a royal, that's a real luxury.”

“It doesn't sound odd at all,” she replies sincerely, as if she understands. 

“I helped restore it,” he says after a moment, and she looks surprised. “I'm not a mason, and I had people who helped me, but I worked every day from the day we started to the day it was fully restored. I guess I feel more attached to it because of that.”

“Graham said you weren't a guy who could just stand by and watch,” Snow says, touching the stone walls. “He said you preferred taking an active part, if you could.” 

“He's probably right,” David admits. “Not very becoming in a royal, I suppose. Rather royally inappropriate, according to my father. We're often mean to just stand there and be... symbolic.”

“There are many ways to be a symbol,” she says softly, her gaze warm. “Don't underestimate yourself, David.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, pausing at the door. “Well. Here we are. This is my home.”

He opens the door and she walks inside, gasping softly as she does. He watches her take in the fairly humble surroundings, the lack of any golden furniture, the unconventional decorations he's chosen. 

“I know it's not much...” he begins, but she turns around, her eyes bright. 

“Are you kidding?” she says. “This is wonderful!”

“Oh,” he says, knowing that she truly means it. And so he takes her on a tour of the rooms, all filled with old furniture he's restored, the walls covered with old paintings of scenery and farm life from talented painters that never became famous, and thus weren't considered worthwhile for the royal art museums. He likes them though, and Snow seems to as well, especially loving one painting that shows blue birds in flight. 

“Father wants me to move into rooms more suitable for a crown prince,” he tells her, and she makes a disapproving sound. “But I... prefer this. I... wasn't raised as the heir, you know. That was James. Everything was James. I was just the second son, raised far more humbly and I... I suppose I miss that. All the pomp and glamour, it just feels so... hollow.”

“You want it to be real,” she says in a far away voice, before looking intently at him. “You're... Not like your brother at all, are you? At heart, I mean.”

“I suppose not,” he says slowly. “To my father's great disappointment.”

“Then he's an idiot,” she says hotly, passionately. She bites her lip a moment later, as if realizing what she's said. 

“You're not afraid to speak your mind, are you?” he observes, and she laughs. 

“No,” she agrees. “My fatal flaw.”

“Not a flaw at all,” he counters, stepping closer. “In fact, I find it rather... charming.”

She gazes up at him, her lips slightly parted, and he feels an absurdly strong urge to kiss her, to press her against the stone wall and just.... show her just how charming he finds her. 

She's his bodyguard, he reminds himself. It wouldn't be appropriate. Not because he doubts Snow would at all hesitate to let him know if his advances were unwelcome, oh no. She would heartily tell him off even if he is the prince, and oh how he loves that. But still. She's his bodyguard. It wouldn't be appropriate to kiss her breathless.

At least not on the first day.

And of course, there's the other reason too.

“There's a guest room upstairs you can have,” he says after a moment. “If you want. You can have a more... grand guestroom in another part of the castle if you prefer.”

“No,” she says softly. “I prefer to stay close to you. To properly body-guard you.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, a touch huskily. “Properly.”

They gaze at each other for a moment before she swallows and then steps away. 

“I'll get Graham to bring my things over,” she says. “I... You have a nice home, David.”

“Thank you,” he says. “That means a lot.”

It really does, he thinks.

II

He stays awake for a while that evening, keenly aware that Snow is asleep in a bed upstairs. He's never had anyone else sleep here before, but it doesn't feel intrusive. 

It feels... right, and he already has a good idea why. A very, very good idea that involves falling hopelessly in love with her.

That's a problem. The massive, wonderful problem.

Oh, fuck.

II

He wakes up to discover that whatever else Snow is, she is not an early riser. He finds that rather endearing, and decides to make her breakfast himself.

Of course, she walks in on him in the kitchen just before he manages to finish, which rather ruins the attempt at trying to be a gentleman. 

Snow still seems touched by the thought, and they eat breakfast together in the kitchen, debating which cheese is the best (she prefers Jarlsberg, he makes a note of). 

Afterwards, he has a road to open. It's a new road between two towns in the region, and his job is mostly to stand there and look royal and cutting a ribbon. Still, he takes the opportunity to praise all the builders for their work, and sees several appreciative nods at that. 

Snow watches him, he notices, and not so discreetly. Or perhaps he just notices her gaze in particular; it does feel like he's drawn to it. 

He sneaks off from the royal retinue after his duty is fulfilled, taking just Snow with him to explore the town. It's a rather lovely one, mostly populated by farmers, with the occasional sheep even wandering the streets.

It also has very old pubs and inns.

“It probably wouldn't be appropriate to ask you to have a drink with me,” he tells Snow as he regards the wooden sign of the 'The Sanguine Sheep', promising a local beer that can be found nowhere else. 

“No,” she agrees, and her lips turn upwards in a smile that is downright wicked. “So you definitely should.”

He does.

When Graham finds them an hour later, happily sharing their third beer and debating just what it takes to make a sheep sanguine, he darkly mutters about being beheaded again.

II

“I love towns like that,” he tells Snow in the limo on the way home, after Graham has given the usual speech about wandering off, the one he always gives David. “They all have history, character, personality. They're all different.”

“They reflect the people that live in them,” Snow says, and he nods eagerly. 

“I wish I could spend a year just traveling from town to town, learning about them,” he says wistfully. 

“You're going to be a very good king, David,” she says, and he looks up to see her smile softly at him. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks.

“You,” she simply replies, putting her hand on his. Slowly, her thumb starts caressing his skin, and she leans closer. 

He swallows. “Snow... I... You should know something.”

She tilts her head curiously. 

“Father wants me to marry a princess,” he says darkly, remembering the fight they had before his father left. “He already has one in mind. As far as he's concerned I'm as good as engaged.”

She doesn't seem surprised, he notices. 

“I expected as much,” she says after a moment. “It's... a pretty common occurrence, royal engagements.”

“I don't want it,” he says, willing her to understand. 

“I'm sorry,” she says slowly. “I... I wouldn't want to marry someone I didn't know either.”

“I want to marry someone I love,” he says, and her breath catches. “Not just someone I know. I want to marry for love, and only for love.”

“Oh,” she says, her lips parting. “I... I under stand.”

“No, you don't,” he says, cupping her head in his hands. “Snow, I know this sounds crazy since we've just met, but... I could... so easily fall in love with you, I...”

She kisses him. He has a second to feel surprised, then all he can feel is her lips, insistent yet soft against his. He's being kissed, and properly, insistently and wonderfully so, as she caresses his lips with her own until he feels breathless.

“Snow,” he murmurs against her lips. She pulls back slightly, biting her lip in that adorably, nervous way that she does and he already loves.

“Sorry,” she says, and he kisses her almost sternly. 

“Don't be,” he tells her, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “Snow, I've wanted to kiss you since... since you were cheeky to me after just saving my life, I think.”

She laughs softly, and he kisses her again, and then again. He can't quite seem to stop. Kissing her feels intoxicating, as if he's getting drunk on her. 

“David,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“Don't tell me to stop,” he says huskily, brushing his tongue against her lower lip in a way that makes her moan softly. 

“Okay,” she says breathlessly, and he kisses her again. “But I think Graham is about to, because he's looking at us like _he_ wants to behead _us_.”

He turns his head slightly to see that the limo door is indeed open, and Graham is looking at them both, shaking his head. 

“Oh,” he says. He didn't even notice the limo coming to a stop, he has to admit. “Um. Graham, we were just...”

“Don't,” Graham says, holding up a hand. “Spare us all the indignity of making up a stupid excuse for why you two are currently snogging in the limo, like you tripped and fell on her lips, and just... go do it elsewhere where I am not a witness to it and thus can't be beheaded for knowing about it.”

So they do.

II

He kisses her against the stone wall the moment they're alone inside his rooms in the tower, lifting her up and properly, properly ravishing her just like he imagined, only better. After all, he couldn't imagine how soft her lips are, how warm her mouth is, how she tastes faintly like summer and kissing her is all sunlight. He couldn't imagine how her body feels against his, curves in all the right places even with clothes on, how smooth her skin feels against his palms as he slides his hands just inside her shirt. He couldn't imagine how it feels to have her fingers play with the short hairs at the back of his neck, or how her legs feel hooked around his waist, or how she grinds softly against him. He couldn't imagine the noises she makes, the soft sighs of pleasure as he touches her, the breathless moans as he deepens the kiss, the demanding tiny growls whenever he breaks the kiss for even a second. 

This is real. This is kissing Snow, and he'd like to never stop doing it, please and thank you. 

Of course, he'd also like to do far more than kissing her, he's becoming increasingly aware of. Starting with taking all her clothes of, but definitely not ending there. Oh no. 

Snow makes another small growl as he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against hers. He rubs his nose against hers affectionately while trying to steady his breath enough to speak.

“Snow,” he breathes, and she presses her thumb against his lips.

“No,” she says, looking at him through lowered eyelids. 

“No?” he echoes, feeling his heart fall, but before he can step away, she kisses him sternly. 

“No, you don't even have to ask. I want... you. I want... This.”

“Oh,” he breathes, feeling her kiss his cheek. “I just... didn't want to assume. I know it's not appropriate, you're my...”

“Charming,” she says brightly, pressing her forehead against his. “When it comes to us... Fuck appropriate, and please, please, fuck me.”

So he does.

II

He carries her to his bed, kissing her all the while, and lowering them both onto the mattress. She closes her eyes at that, and he kisses her eyelids lovingly. 

“Snow,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”

He starts by taking all her clothes off, as he planned, though with some items it becomes more like ripping off, and she just kisses him all the more eagerly at that, he finds, and loves her impatience before testing it severely by spending a long, long time kissing every inch of her skin. He can't help it. He wants to know her, all of her, every every curve, every line, every sensitive spot. He wants to map her with touches, with caresses and kisses, and so he does, earning a combination of moans and impatient noises from her. He can already tell his patience turns her on and frustrates her in equal measure, that she enjoys challenging it – just as he does her impatience. 

She doesn't just challenge him, of course. She matches him too, kisses him as eagerly as he kisses her, and boldly touches every inch of him as lovingly as he did her. She even gives him that wicked smile he's come to love so much before rolling him over, leaving him underneath her while she lowers her hand. 

The feeling of Snow's hands stroking his erection immediately makes it to the very top of greatest sensations ever, where it manages to reign triumphantly for about a minute before it's replaced by the feeling of her mouth on him. 

“Snow,” he growls, digging his fingers into the sheets. 

“Yes,” she replies cheekily, lifting her head to smile at him. He growls again as she shifts to straddle him, resting her body on his, leaving them as physically close as possible. Or at least almost. 

He puts his hands on her hips as she kisses him, her lips parting against his in a soundless gasp as he angles himself and then thrusts into her, slowly and steadily. It feels... Well, fucking good, but not just that. It will never be just that between them, he already knows. It will always be more. 

“Snow,” he murmurs into the kiss, affectionately, lovingly. 

“Yes,” she moans softly. She is already moving to meet his thrusts, rocking back and forth on him, and he lets one hand stay at her back to help, while the other roams her body. Her hands are caressing his face, so very lovingly, as they kiss at every slow thrust. Every now and then she impatiently bites down on his bottom lip or clenches her muscles around him, and he loves that too. 

She's his match and his challenge both, his Snow, he thinks, and loves. 

They make love like that, slowly and steadily, a first time as exploration, learning each other. When she finally comes, seconds before him, she whimpers his name and bites into his shoulder, and he learns that he loves that too, loves it enough to want to feel it again. And again.

So after they've rested, and he's fed her cheese (Jarlsberg, her favorite) and bread, he rolls her around and traps her underneath him. She laughs his name, then just moans and whimpers it as he puts what he learned mapping her body to excellent use, kissing and even lightly sucking on her breasts while brushing his fingers against her and then into her until her cheeks are blazing and she's arching against him.

“Snow,” he asks softly, kissing her eyelids as they slide closed.

“Yes,” she breathes, and comes with a hiss. “ _Yeeees_.”

Yes, he thinks happily. Oh yes. This is sleeping with Snow, and he'd like to never stop doing it, please and thank you. 

II

In the morning, he wakes to feel Snow nestled against him, and it feels completely right, as if she belongs in his arms, as if she's a part of his home.

That is a problem, he knows. A massive, wonderful problem, but one he intends to solve. He won't let her go. He might be the heir to the throne with a responsibility to his country, but he has a responsibility to himself too. 

So he kisses Snow lovingly, then sneaks out to make her breakfast. Of course she wakes up early and walks in on him in the kitchen, but that's all right. 

He gets to ravish her on the kitchen table as his breakfast, after all.

II

They spend a week like that. 

During the day, he fulfills his royal duties, with Snow along, officially as his bodyguard, but unofficially more and more his partner. She offers him advice, opinion, support, and when she thinks he's being an idiot, she challenges him too.

He loves that. He loves her, he knows. 

At night, she's always in his arms. They talk, they kiss, they make love a variety of ways, slowly, passionately, urgently, leisurely, quietly, loudly, and all various degrees inbetween. They make love a variety of places too, in his bed, on his desk, against the stone wall, in the bath, in the limo, on the limo and in several chairs. 

It's a glorious, fucking awesome week, and he's just allowed himself to imagine a lifetime like that when it comes to an abrupt end.

II

He saves her life. 

They are at another opening, this time of a tunnel, with him about to cut the ribbon, Snow at his side when he hears the noise of an approaching car. He reacts instinctively, not even thinking, and pushes Snow out of the way before trying to get out of the way himself.

He doesn't. Not quite.

When he wakes up in hospital, Snow is kissing his hand, tears in her eyes, pain etched into her face.

Oh, he thinks painfully. 

“Snow?” he murmurs, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide and green and luminous with tears. 

“Charming,” she breathes in relief. She lowers her head to rest against his, and he clumsily kisses the tears from her cheeks. “Oh, Charming.”

“I'm here,” he says. His body hurts like hell, which convinces him that oh yes, he's very much here. “What happened?”

“Some idiot drunk driver drove through the tunnel from the other side before it was officially opened,” she says, and he can hear the anger in her voice. “I... You pushed me out of the way, but he hit you.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Idiot,” she mutters through tears, kissing his cheek. 

“It seemed like the honorable thing to do,” he says, and she lifts her head to glare sternly at him. 

“I'm supposed to be the bodyguard, not you,” she says, swallowing.

“I suppose it wouldn't look good on your bodyguard resume,” he jokes weakly, and Snow stares angrily at him.

“You think I care about my resume?!” she almost yells. “I... I care about you, you... You... I... I can't lose you, I can't... I... love you.”

He has no time to react to her words before she's kissing him, angrily and hotly at first, but slowly more and more gently until it's the barest brush of lips. 

“I love you,” she says again, and he closes his eyes for a moment, relishing the words. Oh, he had a fair idea she felt the same from how she looked at him, acted with him, kissed him, but to hear it is still sort of wonderful.

“I love you too,” he replies, and she sighs. “Snow, I'm... I'm going to tell father I won't marry his choice of princess. I want to marry you.”

“No,” she says, and he frowns.

“No?” he echoes.

“Talk to the princess, Charming,” she tells him firmly, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “She might not be any more happy to just have her life arranged by meddling kings than you are. Don't tell your father. Talk to her. After that...”

“I'll find you,” he promises, kissing her knuckles. “I'll always find you.”

She nods, then kisses him again, so very lovingly it almost makes his toes curl.

“Please stop doing things in front of me that I could be beheaded for knowing about,” Graham says, and David looks up to see the captain of the royal guard standing in the doorway. He looks quite frazzled, David notices. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a car,” David jokes. 

“Good, cos you were,” Graham says sternly. “You're lucky. A concussion and two broken ribs, but no lasting damages. Your father has interrupted his royal trip and is on his way.”

David groans, while Snow tenses. 

“I better go,” she murmurs, exchanging a glance with Graham. “Look after him until...”

“Yeah,” Graham promises seriously. 

She nods regally, then smiles down at David. Before he can ask what that was all about, she kisses him softly, brushing her nose against his before straightening. 

“Charming,” she says against his lips, almost like a goodbye. 

Then she leaves, and he watches her go with a frown.

II

It takes four days before he's allowed to leave the hospital. Four frustrating days being stuck with nurses who fawn over him, Graham who sternly watches him, and the occasional visit from his father, lecturing him about how inappropriate it is to risk royal lives to save the life of a mere commoner. 

It takes about all of his patience not to yell back and to merely keep silent, as he aches to tell his father that Snow is not mere anything. Snow is everything, and he misses her desperately.

She doesn't come to visit again, and Graham refuses to say where she is. David supposes it makes sense she would want to stay away to not risk running into his father, but still. He misses her.

On the fourth day, he's allowed to go home. His sides ache, and his head still throbs lightly, but it's a relief to be able to leave and return to his quiet little tower where he can be alone.

Only, without her, it doesn't feel like home anymore. It's too quiet, the bed too big, the blankets too cold, the kitchen table too empty, all missing her presence. 

Right, he thinks, and wonders if threats about beheading will be enough to make Graham give up Snow's location. 

It's worth a shot, at least. 

II

In the morning, he strides into his father's office with determination and purpose, a man on a mission, a prince on a quest – and nearly trips over his own legs as he notices who is also there.

_Snow_.

Seeing her again is almost like seeing the sun again after days in darkness, he finds. It's almost blinding, and he can't look away. 

“Ah, David,” his father says, sounding almost pleased, a rather rare occurrence. “I was just about to send Graham to find you. May I introduce King Leopold and Princess Mary Margaret, your fiancée?”

“My what?” he says, dumbfounded, still staring at Snow. 

“Prince David,” Snow says formally, and he takes in her gown, the silver tiara in her hair and the older man by her side. Oh no. Oh no no no, oh fuck no. 

“ _Princess Mary Margaret_?” he says, and her cheeks color. “My _fiancée_?”

“Provided she agrees to the match,” King Leopold says merrily. “My daughter is a very headstrong woman, as you will no doubt learn.”

“Oh, I think I already have a good idea,” David replies, his head swimming. “I would very much like a word alone with Princess Mary Margaret, if I may.”

“You may,” Snow says, and he can hear a hint of nervousness in her voice. 

King Leopold gives her a look, then nods and walks out with King George, leaving just her and David. 

“Princess Mary Margaret?” David repeats again, staring at her. “You're.... Princess Mary Margaret?!”

“David,” she says, softly, stepping closer. “I... Yes, I am. I... Snow was what my mother called me.”

“So what the hell was pretending to be my bodyguard about?” he asks, and she swallows. “Oh my God, Graham knew about this, didn't he? That's why he was so sure he was going to be beheaded, because he knew you were the princess.”

“Yes,” she admits, putting her hand on his arm. “David, I didn't meant to... Your father visited mine a few weeks ago, told us he wanted his son to marry me. I didn't want to marry a stranger, so I went to Graham. We were friends when I was younger. I wanted to know what you were like.”

“Right,” he murmurs. “And you two cooked up this plan, did you?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I was going to pretend to be just a servant or something. Nothing dangerous. But when I saw you in danger that day, I just... I had to do something. I just... made the bodyguard part up on the spot. I thought Graham would have a heart-attack when he found out.”

Oh, David can imagine that well enough, remembering Graham's expression that day. 

“I didn't intend for it to go this far,” she goes on, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just thought I would... get to know you a few days, see if you were the kind of man I could possibly fall in love with. I'm like you, you see. I want to marry for love. And then... I did fall in love with you and I just...I didn't want it to end, I wanted...”

She trails off, biting her lip. 

He stares at her, completely speechless. 

“You loved me as me,” she says after a moment. “I... Everyone here always sees me as Princess Mary Margaret Blanchard, and nothing beyond that. But you... You... You saw me. You really, really saw me. Charming, please, please say something.” 

He is still staring at her, he realizes. Snow. Princess Mary Margaret. Kickass, brave, capable, cheeky, adorable, beautiful, determined, stubborn, headstrong, and not beyond concocting a plan to disguise herself as a commoner to find out if a crown prince is someone she could actually love, because titles, pomp and glamour isn't enough for her. 

Fuck, he thinks. He never really stood a chance, did he?

“I'm furious with you,” he tells her, and her face falls. “I'm also furiously in love with you.”

He lifts her up before she has time to react, kissing her passionately while twirling her around. She clings to him, her lips eagerly meeting his, occasionally tugging teasingly at his lower lip. His match and his challenge, he thinks fondly. His Snow. 

“Snow,” he says against her lips. 

“Yes,” she whispers back happily. 

“I suppose it would be appropriate at this point to kneel and ask you if you want to marry me,” he says, stealing another kiss as she shakes her head. 

“No,” she tells him, her eyes bright with mischief.

“No?” he echoes.

“Charming,” she says brightly, pressing her forehead against his. “When it comes to us... Fuck appropriate. Prince David, Charming of my heart, would you marry me?”

“What do you think?” he jokes, and she laughs as he lifts her up and kisses her again, and again, and starts entertaining serious thoughts about ravishing her on his father's desk. 

“Oh good,” he hears from the door, and they both glance up to see Graham standing there, averting his eyes. “Please tell me you two are now officially engaged so that witnessing this hasn't put me at risk of being beheaded by either of your fathers.”

“We're engaged,” David says softly, and Snow – who he might never get used to thinking of as Mary Margaret – beams at him. “The princess just requested my hand in marriage, and I accepted.”

“The princess requested?” Graham echoes, giving them both a pointed look. “Oh good. I can see the pair of you will take great delight in doing things in inappropriate way.”

He's right, David knows, meeting Snow's amused glance and finding himself unable to resist kissing her upturned, puckered lips, and he suspects that's exactly what she had in mind.

II

Prince David Nolan marries Princess Mary Margaret in spring, a lovely and delightful wedding with all the expected pomp and glamour that is appropriate for a royal wedding. 

And if the groom kisses his bride with slightly inappropriate enthusiasm for such a public event, well, that's just true love, isn't it? 

It doesn't always adhere to royally appropriate, after all – but it is real, and Snow and Charming live happily (and royally inappropriately) ever after to prove it.

FIN


End file.
